on my mind

Anxiety is still a battle I fight daily, but lately I've had a lot on my mind, which, while exhausting in its own right, has proved to be a therapeutic distraction. Unfortunately, because Blake's busy work and church schedules have not coordinated well with my recently perfected habit of falling asleep on the couch right after I've tucked the boys into bed for the night, I haven't had much opportunity to empty my brain. And so I'm going to empty it here.

• I, like so many of you, am a sucker for Downton Abbey (yes, even despite the forced melodrama and contrived nature of last week's period soap opera-like episode), and I'm a little sad that the final episode of Season 2 airs this Sunday. How will I reward myself for surviving another week, not to mention give myself the boost required to face the next week, if I can't have the intrigue of the Crawley family and their servants downstairs to entertain me?

• Garrett's paper addiction is driving me crazy. I am this close to altogether banning paper (as well as, thanks to the evolution of the addiction, masking tape) at our house, since severely limiting Garrett's access to it doesn't seem to be working. Because if I have to step on or pick up one more rolled and crumped up piece of paper or settle a screaming match because Caleb (or, as in many cases, Garrett himself) has done something to ruin a particular creation, I swear I will need to be institutionalized.

• And speaking of picking things up off the floor, it has become physically (and mentally?) too demanding. I desperately need either the boys at this house (yes, all three of them) to try a little harder to pick up after themselves or one of those long-handled devices used for picking crap up off the ground. I'd prefer the former, but will settle for the latter if necessary.

• Which leads me to another thing. There is little that wears out my patience more quickly than pregnancy. Little things, like having to repeat myself over and over, irritate me to no end, which makes my husband consider me crabby (which, I admit, I am) and my children tell me I'm mean. Last night Garrett asked if he could have a new mom and I, since I tend to get especially irritated and snarky at bedtime, told him that maybe he'd have a new one when he woke up in the morning. I know, that wasn't nice, and after I said it I told him I was sorry and gave him hug. But seriously, how many times do I have to tell him that he doesn't need to make another paper telescope and to just kneel down for prayer already? Because I counted at least half a dozen.
  

• I had a nice conversation with my doctor at my appointment earlier this week which was, oddly, simultaneously consoling and frightening. After describing the consistent, though irregular, contractions I've been plagued with again this pregnancy, and outlining the particulars of Caleb's birth (the labor that lasted 4 1/2 hours from start to finish, the contractions that were unconvincingly bearable until the last 30 minutes, the fact that both of my babies came a couple weeks early, etc) she told me that they'd monitor me more closely and possibly induce if they discover at a routine check-up that I'm half-way dilated so as to hopefully avoid another traumatic birth experience (or one that takes place somewhere other than the labor and delivery ward of the hospital). Of course, first she completely validated my concerns by telling me that this birth would likely go even faster than Caleb's did, which, while I do love me some validation, didn't exactly do much to keep my propensity to panic in check. But I suppose that doctors can't be miracle workers 100% of the time.

• I'm seriously starting to wonder how we're going to fit another person -- and all his stuff -- into our compact 650 square foot apartment. Sure, the crib is still assembled in the bedroom (and collecting stuff we don't know where else to put), but sleeping another person and living another person are two very different things. I guess it's time to start carving out drawer and shelf space, and, my favorite, throwing things away.
  

• Even though I wasn't able to get it finished until the day after, I totally rocked Blake's Valentine's Day gift. For the last few months, ever since they found a cockroach in the office hot chocolate machine, Blake's been occasionally vocal about how much he misses his regular mugs of cocoa (because, ew, there's no way he's ever going to touch that machine again after it's been tainted by a big, nasty cockroach). So I packaged up some servings of my best homemade powdered hot chocolate mix, along with some starlight mints, marshmallows, and a spoon, and stuffed it all inside the Fishs Eddy original Brooklyn mug. I then presented it to him in person at his office -- all the way in Manhattan, which, do you even realize how many stairs are required to climb to get to Manhattan? I know, I'm awesome -- Blake already told me.
  

• Have you ever eaten a Monte Cristo sandwich? You should, if you haven't already; they are delicious. Normally these batter-dipped turkey-ham-and-Swiss sandwiches are fried before they're topped with jam and powdered sugar, but the other day Rachael Ray taught me how to essentially "bake" them in a waffle iron. And now I must try this because already it sounds healthier, not to mention easier and safer to make (we almost burned the house down the first time we tried our hands at making some...)
  

• I have a hard time finding the line between doing too much and spending my entire day on the couch. Lately I've been erring on the side of overdoing it, which is evident in my above-mentioned perfection of the art of crashing on the couch every night moments after I'm able to call it wraps on the boys' bedtime routine. For the health of myself and the baby (and not to mention my sanity), I probably need to figure this out soon.

• I really want to take a nap. In fact, I think I will.